Sad to say this still must be said, but say it I will while it is.
It takes six minutes to get to my old house from the tube after 9pm.
You have to run it – or as near as run it – for it to take six minutes. Walking takes ten.
I know, still, when the corner shop shuts, when the off licence shuts, what time the last bus comes and when the lights in the houses I’d have rung the bell of went out.
I can’t find my lipstick, but I keep my rape alarm in the top pocket.
Don’t walk home in heels. Don’t walk home alone. Don’t take short cuts, don’t dip down alleys, walk, if the road is quiet, down the centre of it, facing the traffic, because it is probably safer than walking hugged to the wall at the side of the road.
Remember to scream. Remember which parts of the male anatomy are sensitive. Remember where you last saw…
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